


Like the Holy Scriptures of a Shopping Mall

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 17:43:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13506597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tweek Tweak finds himself attracted to the tattoo artist at the local tattoo parlor.





	Like the Holy Scriptures of a Shopping Mall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PBJellie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PBJellie/gifts).



> This was a request by PBJellie who just wanted something Damien/Tweek and this is what she gets.

I read the graffiti  
In the bathroom stall  
Like the holy scriptures of a shopping mall  
And so it seemed to confess  
-Jesus of Suburbia, Green Day

* * *

 

When Tweek had imagined visiting his first tattoo parlor he had imagined something dark and sordid. And filled with smoke. And maybe pirates. Because he was really just imagining a seedy bar from an Indiana Jones movie or something along those lines in his head. Which he admits is a pretty stupid thought, but he's never been to a tattoo parlor, why should he know what to expect?

But Kyle chose this place and he supposes he should've known Kyle wouldn't bring him to some vulgar opium den. Kyle is too obsessed with hygiene and safety. Tweek knows, from experience, that he won't even perform oral sex on somebody without a condom, or a clean STD test. If this is where Kyle had gotten his little tattoo of the baguette on his shoulder then it has to be a good place.

The walls are white, painted with splashes of color that vaguely resemble butterflies, and the entire shop carries the scent of disinfectant. It makes Tweek's nose twitch. When they enter, bells above the door jingle and a young woman immediately approaches to greet them. She has a ring in her lip and an eyebrow piercing but besides those, and the purple hair, she seems normal enough. She clasps Kyle's hand in greeting like she's an old friend.

“Coming back for the croissant?” she teases him. “Or have we moved onto naan or pita?”

“Hi Lorraine,” Kyle greets the woman. “Actually, just accompanying a friend. Tweek, this is Lorraine. She's the one who did my baguette, obviously, and Christophe's back.”

Kyle doesn't even mention what's on Christophe's back because, well, who knows what's on there at this point? He's always adding to the collage of random images back there. Tweek knows there's a shovel and the French flag and a Star of David but he's never had the chance to inspect it at any length of time. Just caught glimpses here and there as he walks naked around Tweek and Kyle's apartment. Making Tweek drool and yearn to ask to be able to join in again, memories of that one night as fresh as new snow in his mind's eye, but never quite having the nerve to speak his request. Even though Christophe gives him those looks that imply he's just waiting for him to say it.

“Hi, Tweek. I saw your name in the appointments list. Let me get Damien for you.”

“You won't be working on him?” Kyle asks, his eyes flickering to Tweek's own. The green irises staring back at him look worried, brow lowered. Kyle wears his heart on his sleeve. Sometimes it's a good thing, but sometimes Tweek wishes he would just reassure him and tell him everything was okay. Like Craig used to do. Sometimes, Tweek still misses Craig. But not for the right reasons. Not the type of reasons that two people stay together for.

“I have another appointment in ten minutes,” she says, her voice laced with regret. “But Damien's great, you've seen his work. Don't worry, he'll do a great job.”

“I know he is, but, well,” Kyle hesitates and Tweek begins to worry as the redhead rubs the back of his neck. Is it that bad? “This is Tweek's first tattoo and Damien can be a bit...intimidating.”

“He's a softy,” Lorraine insists, grinning at Tweek. Her teeth look too big for her mouth, he finds that oddly attractive for some reason. “Don't worry about Damien, he's a little scary looking at first but he has the heart of a bunny rabbit. A baby bunny rabbit.”

She leaves them alone in the front of the shop to go fetch this “Damien” and Tweek tries to ignore the pounding in his throat. He wants to do this. It isn't that he doesn't want the tattoo, he's just scared of the pain he knows will come with it. And apparently he should also be scared of this “Damien” guy by Kyle's face. It's the same face that he made when he watched Christophe fuck Tweek that one time, like he was scared of psychologically scarring the blond. Like Tweek hadn't lost his virginity at fifteen and the feeling of a dick inside him was supposed to be new and scary.

What is Damien like? He's imagining some large, bulky bald biker-type guy, with a skull tattooed on his scalp. Probably wearing leather. With like, six barbells through the bridge of his nose. And lots of body hair.

He tries to distract himself by looking through the tattoo books. He already knows what he wants but he flips through the pages anyway, wondering who would want a tattoo of the Tasmanian Devil or Tweety Bird. Probably some drunken sorority chick stumbling in at two in the morning, except Kyle said they won't tattoo you if you're drunk. Thins the blood or something like that. The idea of somebody sober wanting a Tweety Bird tattoo is even sadder.

He doesn't see Damien when he enters the room. He hears him first, slow footsteps and the sound of a slightly nasal voice speaking condescendingly. Tweek doesn't hear another voice and when he looks up he sees a man talking into a phone.

“I told you when you wanted the damn thing it was a stupid idea,” the man says. “I can try to cover it but I need to see it again before I give you a definite yes or no.”

The man, Damien, is tall but not large. Pretty skinny actually, with long, thin legs and lanky arms with the veins popping out through thin, white skin. But Tweek sees why Kyle was concerned. He might not bulky but you don't need to be large to be intimidating.

The man is more ink and metal than flesh.

Tweek tries not to stare but it's difficult. He wants to count how many piercings he can see. Ears, check. Multiple actually, in each ear, too close together to distinguish the number from here. Eyebrow, check. Only one side. Lip, check. One on each side of his bottom lip, studs. Tweek thinks he's heard them called snakebites. A ring through the nose, check. But just one through the septum, now barbells. He wonders if the man has pierced nipples? Then there's the tattoos. They cover both his exposed arms and slither down his throat into his shirt. His face is unmarred by the ink though, only the shining metal. No skull tattoo on his head. Or at least, not that he can see. The man has a head of thick, shiny black hair, standing out like he's been running his fingers through it. It's so black it's almost blue.

Tweek wants to inspect the tattoos on his body, the parts that are exposed, and try to determine what they may be of, but the man looks at him and Tweek quickly averts his eyes.

“Alright, I'll see you tomorrow at seven,” Damien says before hanging up the phone. Tweek spots a shine of metal behind his teeth. A tongue ring? He approaches Tweek and holds out his hand to greet him. “Tweek, right? My five o'clock?”

“Ye, yes,” Tweek stutters nervously, jumping to his feet. He reaches out to shake Damien's hand. His fingers are long and thin. Tweek's feel stubby in comparison. Tweek nearly starts when he suddenly notices the man's eyes. They're red. Not the white's, not as if he's just stoned, but the irises themselves are like rubies. It's disconcerting. They must be contacts, rights? Can you tattoo your eyeballs?

The man smiles at him, his teeth are very white. Or maybe they just look brighter against the black ink on his throat. Tweek realizes the tattoo curling around his throat is a snake. It coils up from under his shirt, circles around the man's Adam's apple, and disappears behind his neck.

“The forbidden fruit,” he murmurs to himself. The man's forehead creases in confusion for a moment as he releases Tweek's hand.

“What?”

“Your, your tattoo,” Tweek feels his face turn hot and points at his own throat. “The serpent, wrapped around the forbidden fruit.”

“Oh, yeah,” he smiles again. “I got it when I was fourteen, I thought it was clever at the time. Come on back, we'll get you set up.”

“Can Kyle come?” he asks, looking at the redhead. He's sitting in his chair still, playing on his phone. He has his legs crossed like a girl. He always sits like that, it makes him look prissy.

“I think he knows the backroom better than me,” Damien jokes. “Yes, both of you come.”

The backroom is just as brightly lit as the front but it feels warmer, despite the stark tile floor and metal chairs. The tattoo chair isn't metal though, it's black plastic and some artificial material, vinyl? Pleather? Damien asks him to take a seat.

“Should I take my shirt off?” he asks, starting to feel that shaky feeling in the pit of his stomach. Soon there will be a needle plunging repeatedly into his skin. The human body wasn't made for that. He must be trembling because Kyle places a comforting hand on the small of his back.

“Nah, we need to fill out some forms and do the sketch first,” Damien says. “Do you want a drink or anything? A coffee?”

Tweek flinches. He doesn't drink coffee anymore. He's not supposed to. The doctors said it was linked too closely with meth in his mind. If he drunks coffee he may become triggered, start craving his parents' coffee. He only drinks tea now. He just shakes his head. If he drinks now he'd probably need to get up in the middle to pee and he doesn't know if that's normal or not.

Damien rummages through a table in the corner and pulls out some papers. Tweek watches him from the chair, fidgeting. The chair feels strange beneath him, the lumps not lining up where they should. The man licks his lips as he comes close, pulling a pen from his pocket. The movement makes him look like an ad for dark chocolate or alcohol. He hands the papers and pen to Tweek.

“Read these,” he instructs, his voice like honey. “They're consent forms. Procedural details. And aftercare information. The aftercare is for you to keep but I like my clients to read it before we begin.”

“Don't worry about the aftercare,” Kyle tells him from his seat at Tweek's side. “I'll help you with it.”

“Please read it anyway,” Damien requests. He doesn't wait at Tweek's side the whole time he reads, thankfully. Tweek hates being hovered over as it is but something about this man has him on edge. Tweek is usually a quick reader but he takes his time to make sure he understands everything he reads right now. What if there's a test beforehand? That would be a good idea. Don't let somebody get a tattoo until they can tell you exactly how to clean it.

But there isn't. Damien takes the forms back and asks him what he wants done. Kyle is the one who hands him the sketch that Craig had drawn for him last week, Tweek didn't trust himself in his nervous state to remember to bring it. Damien looks at it and nods, commenting that it will be simple, and asks if he wants it colored in at all.

“Not right now,” Tweek says. “Maybe next year.”

He figures that would be a good second anniversary idea. Today is the one year anniversary of the last time he had meth and the tattoo had been Kyle's idea, something to keep with him when he starts to get those urges. Something he can look at and feel good about.

“Okay, where do you want it?”

“Here,” Tweek says, reaching around to touch his shoulder. It's about the same place that Kyle's baguette is but on the opposite shoulder. He had thought about having it done on his upper arm but he's scared of somebody asking what it's supposed to mean. He doesn't want to explain to anybody he had been addicted to meth most of his life.

The sketch that Craig had lovingly drawn for him is of a coffee cup, upside down on its saucer. From Googling it, Tweek knows that coffee tattoos with little hearts formed in either the foam or the little trails of steam are a common theme. But he hadn't seen any featuring an untouched, empty coffee cup. Craig had also added the Big Dipper constellation as a decoration on the cup. It didn't mean much, symbolically, but it made Tweek happy to know Craig had wanted to share something about himself on Tweek's skin.

Tweek will always love Craig, in his own way. He's glad they're still friends. He was the boy that Tweek lost his virginity to his sophomore year, he'll always hold a place in his heart. But sometimes these things just don't work out. He was glad their breakup had been mutual.

He's also glad he gets to face away from Damien as he starts because he can't help looking at the man. He's very angular and it reminds him of Craig back in high school, before he began to fill out. But Damien has much more defined cheek bones than Craig and much lighter skin. Maybe even paler than Tweek's, but Tweek does get a lot more sun than he used to now. The rehab place had insisted on “nature healing” with hiking and mountain yoga. It had seemed stupid and tedious at the time but Stan works there and had gotten Tweek a huge discount on his stay. Stan still calls in to check on Tweek sometimes. He's a nice guy. Sometimes they go for hikes together when he comes home for a visit.

The outline doesn't hurt. Tickles a bit, maybe, but there's no pain. It just makes Tweek more afraid. Kyle scoots the chair closer to Tweek and takes his hand when Damien warns he's about to begin the tattoo for real. Kyle's hands are cold. They're always colds. They had been cold on Tweek's back when Tweek had fucked him under Christophe's approving gaze.

It's...not as bad as he thought. He figured it would be like getting a shot. Before the fancy rehab place had let him in they had required proof of vaccination and apparently his parents had been pretty lax on keeping those on schedule. He hadn't even received all of them in one day, there had been too many and he had required multiple ones in some cases, but either way they had all stung and left a deep aching in his arm. That's what Tweek had expected with a tattoo needle. But it's not like that. It stings, some, but not as bad and not as deep. He should've realized it wouldn't go that deep, wouldn't be as painful as a shot.

Still, it doesn't feel pleasant.

It gets worse the longer it goes on. The repeated injection makes his skin feel tender, bruised, like he's a piece of meat under a tenderizer. He squeezes Kyle's hand as it becomes more painful and Kyle squeezes back. Damien must notice the exchange because Tweek feels his hand move onto his lower back, fingers splayed out and pressing into his skin. Damien's fingers are so long they feel like they can nearly reach from side to side across his waist. His hands are hot. Not just warm but almost searing. Like a heating pad without a cover. It feels nice.

“Let me know if you need a break,” Damien murmurs close to his ear. He's bent over him, close, so he can see his work. Still, Tweek hadn't realized his head was this close. He can feel the man's breath against the back of his neck. He hadn't noticed it before. “If it hurts too much we can always stop for a bit.”

“I'm okay,” Tweek says through gritted teeth. He doesn't want to take a break. If he stops he might be too frightened to continue with it. Best just to ride through the pain as quickly as possible.

“I'm sorry, I need to get this,” Kyle excuses himself about thirty minutes into the process when his phone begins to ring. “Work related.”

Tweek nods, knowing Kyle was waiting for a call. He's interning, it's non-paid, but he's hoping to get hired full-time after graduating in the spring. He can't afford to miss important calls for the sake of watching his roommate suffer.

It's weirder with Kyle gone. Tweek feels like he should start up a conversation with the man who has his hands all over him but what can he say? Besides, the buzz of the needle is sort of loud for talking. He'd have to speak extra loud which might annoy the man. He closes his eyes instead and tries to will himself to sleep. Maybe if he can pass out for twenty minutes he won't feel the pain any longer.

It doesn't work. With his eyes closed he has nothing left to concentrate on besides the pain. It's better when he can look around the room. He can read the posters, stare at that little hole in the corner and wonder if a mouse lives there.

“That kid sure is uptight,” Damien speaks quietly.

“Kyle?”

“Yeah,” Damien confirms. “I don't know how Lorraine does it. Having him around every time she works on his boyfriend. He fusses over the guy like he's a kid from the Make-A-Wish foundation.”

Tweek snorts a laugh. Kyle is somewhat of a mother hen. He appreciates it. It's nice having a roommate that cleans and cooks and checks in on him when he's sick. Not that Tweek doesn't clean and cook, but Kyle is just better at it. Too much like his mother, Craig says.

“Don't see what Christophe sees in him, to be truthful,” Damien continues. “He's just the type that seems like he'd want somebody adventurous, not somebody to fuss over him.”

“Christophe gets enough adventure on his job,” Tweek says, moving his head to one side so he can speak easier. He winces. The slight movement was enough to pull at his skin. “I think he likes having Kyle to come home to.”

“I thought they didn't live together?”

“Christophe doesn't really live anywhere,” Tweek explains. “He's mostly traveling for his job. I guess our apartment is probably the closest place to a home that he has.”

“Doesn't bother you?” Damien asks. The hand on his back goes just slightly lower. The newly exposed skin feels cool now, exposed to the air. Goosepimples form along Tweek's arms in response. He wonders if Damien can see them on his back.

“That he doesn't pay rent?” Tweek asks. He's gotten that question before, from Craig and Thomas and Stan. “No, he's not around enough for me to be bothered. Also, I think he actually pays Kyle's half of the rent.”

“I meant having a savage Frenchman drilling your roommate in your apartment,” Damien chuckles. “I've heard he's a screamer.”

“He's not as loud as me,” Tweek says, one second too late realizing what he just blurted out. He freezes, mortified. He's told Craig and Thomas that because they both know how loud he can be, but Damien isn't his friend, isn't his ex. You don't tell random people that shit.

But Damien just laughs again. Then his hand is gone, reappearing back on one of Tweek's goosepimpled arms. Fingers graze along the back of his upper arm, making the little bumps more pronounced. Tweek shivers. He's not sure why. Nerves? The sensation of the slight touches? The pain on his shoulder?

“You're doing good, honey,” Damien assures him. Maybe in response to Tweek's trembling. “I know it hurts but you'll love the result. Do you need a break?”

“No.” His voice comes out odd. Sort of sharp but half formed, the sound dying on his lips halfway through. It sounds clipped but only because he suddenly lost the ability to speak mid-word. He hopes Damien didn't think it sounded brusque on purpose.

Kyle returns and the hand on his arm disappears. It feels like a deep loss in Tweek's chest. He feels cold and exposed on the table now, suddenly aware of how the vinyl of the chair is pinching the skin around his nipples. He thinks his nipples might be hard. He can't see them but that seems likely right now, in reaction to the goosepimples alone. Of course.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Tweek says. Kyle sits back down next to him and reaches for his hand. When their fingers touch, Damien announces he needs to take a smoke break.

“I'll be gone for like ten,” he says, voice drawling. “So, you know, whatever you two do. Well, it'll be on the cameras.”

Tweek is confused by the man's words.

Kyle isn't. He laughs, and waits until the sound of the bells on the front door jingles.

“I gave Christophe head once, while Lorraine was taking a break,” he confesses. “Nobody else was in the shop and Lorraine said she was going to grab something to eat at the deli down the street. We didn't realize they had cameras.”

“Jesus,” Tweek says. “Couldn't you wait?”

“He had been gone for like three weeks that time,” Kyle shrugs. “I was starving for cock.”

“Jesus,” Tweek repeats.

Kyle pulls some sugar-free candy from his pocket, offers some to Tweek. He takes one. He thinks they're Life Savers but they might just be some generic brand. They taste okay for sugar-free, he's had some of Kyle's other candy that had tasted like ass. Well, not literally.

They're discussing a vacation that Kyle and Christophe have planned when Damien returns. Christophe is treating Kyle to a trip to Hawaii for their fifth year anniversary.

Damien returns smelling like smoke. It's a familiar scent, Christophe makes their apartment reek whenever he visits. Even though Kyle doesn't let him smoke inside all his clothing stinks of it. Kyle complaints about the smell but Tweek doesn't mind it too much. He'd prefer the smoke of a camp fire over that of nicotine Sometimes Christophe does smell like campfire smoke and that's sort of nice.

“I think Christophe might be planning to propose,” Kyle confesses. “Like, I love him and everything, but I don't know what I will say if he asks.”

“You've nearly graduated,” Tweek reminds him. Damien picks up his equipment. Tweek feels himself go tense again. He feels the man's hands on him again, wiping at him with more disinfectant from the feel of it.

“Yeah, but it's not that,” Kyle sighs. “I mean, he's always gone, what kind of marriage would that be?”

“Do you plan on leaving him?” Tweek asks. “Because I don't see how that'd be any different than what's already going on now.”

“But it's just so much more...permanent,” Kyle replies.

The needle goes back in. The pain, fresh once more but now against already sore flesh, brings out a yelp from the blond. Tweek jumps and Damien pulls back quickly, to stop him from hitting himself against the needle.

“It's okay,” he coos, touching Tweek's back again. His hand is still just as hot as before, despite the cool weather outside. It's January, how are his hands so warm? “You're okay, honey.”

“Sorry,” Tweek squeaks out, feeling foolish. It wasn't like he hadn't expected the pain but, well, what can really prepare you for that? Kyle watches from the side as Tweek curls up his fists and braces himself for the pain once more. He can feel the muscles in his back pulled tight. Damien kneads at the muscles on his lower back, then moves up to do the same on his middle back. Tweek feels himself loosen. Then the needle goes back to its work.

Tweek bites at his lip for the first few seconds, letting himself get used to the sensation once more. Then he uncurls his fist and flattens back down against the chair.

“There we go,” the man says approvingly. “Just like that.”

Tweek breathes heavily through his nose and waits for a long moment before continuing his discussion with Kyle.

“I think you should just do what feels right,” he tells his roommate. “Just think to yourself what life would be like without him. If you think your life would be unbearable without him then you have your answer. That's what I did with Craig, when we stopped feeling that way about each other. I knew I would miss him but I also knew my life would be passionless if I stayed with him.”

“I'll think about it,” Kyle says vaguely. Tweek knows that he'll say yes, if Christophe asks. Despite all his misgivings.

Kyle goes quiet soon after, back to playing on his phone, and Damien is mostly quiet, just mumbling soft words of encouragement to him. Tweek builds up the nerve to ask him how many tattoos he has and Damien lists them off in quick order, so quickly and so many that Tweek loses track after the first handful.

“You should show them to me some day,” he says, pleasantly.

“Oh?” Damien asks, and Tweek can hear the smirk in his voice. “Do you plan on visiting again then?”

“Well, if I want it filled in next year I'll have to, won't it?” he teases back.

“Yes, that's true, I suppose. The best ones are not in the most decent of places, I'm afraid.”

Tweek wouldn't mind seeing those. But he doesn't voice this opinion. That's taking things a bit too far. He remembers Damien mentioning he has the Slytherin house seal on his inner right thigh. It had surprised him, almost made him laugh because it seemed so juvenile, but now he wonders how high up his thigh it is. He bets the green of the seal shows wells on his pale skin. He's already pretty pale, the skin of his upper thighs must be pure white. Probably glows in the dark against his pubes. If his hair is naturally this black. If he has hair down there. What if he shaves down there?

And why is he thinking about this man's pubic region anyway?

Damien wipes off blood and oozing ink when he finally finishes. Even that light touch feels painful and has Tweek making grunting sounds of pain that Damien reacts to by stroking the back of Tweek's neck. It calms him. Kyle takes some pictures of it to show him while Damien bandages him up. The skin around it looks red and irritated but the image is perfect. An exact replica of Craig's art. So exact that Tweek would've thought Craig had been the one back there whispering into his ear and stroking his back, not this man.

He feels dizzy when he sits up, too much time laying on his stomach.

Kyle pays for the tattoo. Even though Tweek insists on doing so. But he lets Tweek cover the tip so he tips more generously than necessarily, since he didn't even have to pay. Damien thanks him and shakes his hand, telling him to keep it clean and call if he has any questions. He holds onto Tweek's hand much longer than Kyle's, his hands still as warm as if he had just been holding a hot water bottle between them. Tweek can see the snow falling outside from the corner of his eye and dreads the walk back to the car. Damien's hands are so warm he wants to wrap them around himself until he's somewhere cozy once more. Maybe in his own bed. Which means he would have to bring Damien to his bed and, no, he just cuts himself off there.

“Why didn't you ask for his fucking number?” Kyle demands the moment the doors of the car have been closed.

“What?” Tweek asks, surprised by the question.

“That guy was fucking you with his eyes the moment he walked through the door,” Kyle huffs out impatiently. “Not your type? I mean, he seems like he'd be. Tall, dark-haired, sort of scary. Isn't that your thing?”

“What are you..no, I mean. What? Really?”

“You're so fucking dense,” Kyle says, starting up the car. “Ugh, I don't feel like cooking. Do you want to order in curry tonight?”

“Sure,” Tweek says. Then adds, “Not Thai.”

“Well, duh,” Kyle responds. Because he's been roommates with Tweek Tweak for nearly four damn years now and he knows that Tweek doesn't like Thai curry.

 

* * *

 

The next time Tweek sees Damien is a week and a half later, and he shows up without an appointment. He couldn't make an appointment because he didn't know when Damien would be available.

He went home and masturbated that evening, after getting the tattoo, to Kyle's words of Damien fucking him with his eyes. Because yes, as much as he denies it, tall, dark, and scary is his type. Or rather, tall, dark, and seemingly scary but totally gooey in the inside. Which Damien seemed to be. Or he was really good at faking empathy.

And God, he had been hot. Tweek didn't even know he had a thing for tattoos. Like yeah, Christophe's body always got a reaction from him but Christophe is just a French Adonis, all lean muscle and olive skin with arms that could crush you. But now every time he tries to fall asleep the image of Damien's throat pops into his mind as he tries to imagine what he looks like beneath the collar of his shirt. He wonders how his lips would feel against his own, would the metal be cold and unyielding? What about the tongue ring?

He's eating lunch across the street from the tattoo parlor, casually, when he sees Lorraine leave with her purse. Lunch, gone for the day, who knows. Point is, she's not there. He hopes Damien isn't currently working on somebody and he lucks out when he goes in and sees Damien just hanging behind the counter, flipping through a magazine.

Damien looks at Tweek, cocking one eyebrow.

“Hey?” he greets, “How's the ink?”

He ends up getting his nipple pierced.

Tweek has never once in his life thought about getting his nipple pierced. But he does it anyway. He watches Damien from above, feeling his heart beating in his throat, and tries to resist the hard on already beginning to form.

The pain of having a needle stuck through his nipple helps get rid of it.

But then they're done and he has no other reason to hang around. It's not like a tattoo. Over and done with like that.

And now his nipple aches every time his shirt rubs against his chest.

Kyle doesn't say anything about the new metal, just snorts and walks away with his toothbrush in his mouth that evening when he catches Tweek coming out of the shower.

The second time is two weeks later. He gets his tongue pierced. And it hurts a lot more than the nipple. Which he supposes makes sense. Muscle is a lot thicker and more sensitive than a little flap of skin. It's like biting your tongue except the tooth gets stuck. His eyes well up with tears and he's sniffling as Damien tries to finish up. He tries to wipe at his face without getting in the way but Damien is right there so the tears just end up trickling down his chin. The man wipes them away for him and licks them off his thumb without noticing, seemingly. He gives Tweek a napkin after and has him sit down for a bit until he feels better.

“It'll be worth it,” Damien assures him, sitting next to him on the bench by the front window. His leg is touching Tweek's. He's so long-limbed his knee juts out several inches past Tweek's own. “You'll drive your boyfriend wild.”

“No boyfriend,” Tweek tries to mumble out around the seemingly large piece of metal in his mouth. He's already starting to swell.

Damien pats his knee soothingly and lets him sit there, leaning slightly against him, until Lorraine returns from her break.

The tongue ring is a success though. He makes Thomas scream in pleasure as Craig smirks from behind him. “Wish you'd gotten that thing when we were dating.”

The third time he gets his belly button pierced. It's nothing compared to the tongue and he doesn't have an excuse to hang around. He stands there for awhile anyway, prolonging small talk with Damien, the man patient with him until he has to excuse himself for another client.

The fourth time...well. He freezes up.

“My favorite client,” Damien grins at him, clasping him by the shoulder. “What're we in for today? Lip? Eyebrow? The other nipple?”

“I, uh,” Tweek stammers, realizing he hadn't decided that ahead of time. No eyebrow or lip, he's heard those can leave scars and he might want his face to look professional some day, once he finishes school in a couple years. He's behind everyone else in his high school graduating class because of the meth binges and rehab.

“You're addicted to the piercings, aren't you?” Damien laughs. “It happens. A lot of first timers end up coming back a lot right after. You might be the most devoted one I've had though.”

“Yeah,” Tweek says, not wanting to say why he really comes here. He thinks about the last time he had slept with Craig and Thomas, how he had imagined it had been Damien fucking him instead of his ex. Thinking about how nice it might be to cuddle afterwards, instead of heading home to be alone in his own bed. He didn't begrudge Thomas that right, Craig is his now, but still.

“Penis?” Damien suggests, noticing Tweek's flustered appearance. “I could give you a Prince Albert?”

“What? No!” Tweek cries out horrified at the very thought of a needle being jabbed through the head of his dick.

“Why not?” Damien asks, faking nonchalance. “Girls love them. Boys do to, I can tell you that from personal experience.”

Tweek tries to hide behind his mess of hair, already feeling himself going red over the thought because he's absolutely sure that his crush has just confessed to having a penis ring. He wonders what it looks like. As if he hadn't already imagined how nice Damien's dick must be now he's imagining it with a piece of metal cutting through it and somehow that's even hotter.

“I don't need something like that,” is all he says.

“I know you do your little redhead roommate sometimes,” Damien pushes. “He'd probably leave that French guy for you if you can get him to cum with just your dick.”

“What?” Tweek asks. He's talking about Kyle. Leaving Christophe. For him? Tweek has no interest in dating Kyle. He's too high maintenance, and small. Yes, he's taller than Tweek, but most people are. Most people weren't raised on coffee and meth. Tweek likes tall guys. Dark guys. Scary guys. Guys with tattoos and pierced tongues and pierced dicks. “I have no interest in dating Kyle. I like taller guys.”

“Oh?” Damien asks, stepping closer to him. Standing over him. Because he's tall.

“And he's a redhead,” Tweek adds, voice going higher. He's nervous. He can't help it. “I like dark hair.”

“Like black hair?” Damien asks, running his fingers through his own dark locks. Tweek nods, swallowing. Damien is playing with him. He knows that. But he likes games. “What else do you like?”

“Pieced dicks,” he says, his voice shaking. His hands are shaking. Fuck, he's shaking.

“Ever had one?” Damien challenges. He grabs onto Tweek's shoulders, trying to still his trembling.

Tweek shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Maybe it's time we fix that then?” Damien asks, smirking. And he's so damn attractive, Tweek can do nothing but nod.

Their tongue rings clink together when Damien kisses him. It makes Tweek wince, something about it grating like nails on chalkboard. But Damien knows how to kiss. He knows how to kiss with a tongue ring specifically, and just that has Tweek moaning. Lorraine comes back to soon from her break, carrying takeout in one hand, and yells at them to get a room.

Damien's room is closer. He lives in an apartment. It's smaller than Tweek's, a studio, but he has no roommate. He shoves Tweek onto the bed, crawling on top of him, and kisses him. Kisses him until he can barely breath. He doesn't touch him anywhere else at first, not even above the clothing, only slipping a hand up under his shirt when he begs for him to touch him.

It's not enough and Tweek fights for dominance, rolling them over so he's on top, ripping at Damien's shirt. He wants to touch him. He wants to see him. Wants to see his ink.

He's covered, like Tweek knew he would be. More covered than Christophe, who mostly sticks to only covering his back. All of the colors stand out so vivid against his pale skin. Tweek kisses as many of the images as he can. There's a small inverted star in the middle of his stomach, surrounding his belly button. He kisses in the middle of it, sticking his tongue into the man's navel. It makes him laugh and push at Tweek's shoulders.

Tweek pulls back up and kisses at his throat, then nips at it. He can feel Damien's nipple rings against his own chest. What if their rings get stuck together? Maybe he should take his out. He's careful as he grinds against the other man, making sure the rings don't touch. Damien reaches up and pulls at Tweek's one ring, it feels oddly good. Nobody has done that to him. He didn't realize nipple rings could feel good. He bends down to bite at the man's nipples, pulling at them by clasping the rings between his teeth. He groans.

Damien feels hard against him, and large. Tweek reaches down and palms at the crotch of his black jeans.

“I wanna see it,” he says.

“Just because you want to see the rings?” he teases. Rings? As in plural?

Yes, plural. Damien pushes Tweek off him and gets up onto his knees for the unveiling. He's wearing white underwear, which seem almost absurd at this moment, and Tweek can see the outlines of the metal before it's freed. He has the Prince Albert, as promised. And five barbells going down the bottom of the shaft. Evenly spaced. He stares, confounded. How does that even work? Damien reaches for him, kissing him as he fists his own erection, but senses Tweek's distraction.

“That weird?” he asks.

Tweek nods.

“It's called a Jacon's Ladder,” he explains. “You'll love it, trust me.”

“You're going to put that in me?” he asks, hesitating.

“Did you want to top?” Damien frowns. Then quickly tries to excuse himself. “I mean, I'm fine bottoming, but I thought you wanted to experience a pierced one?”

“I did...do,” Tweek murmurs, still staring at the cock in front of him. It's big. Bigger than Craig or Christophe. He's drooling over the idea of riding it. But he's trying to imagine how those barbells would fell. He's getting the image of a square peg in a round hold in his mind. Wouldn't they catch and rip off? Or just scrape up his insides?

“Let's just try it and if you don't like it we'll stop,” Damien says. “I can take the Ladder out if you don't like it.”

“It won't close up?” he asks skeptically.

“No, not immediately. I've had it for a few years.”

“Okay,” he agrees slowly. “But use lots of lube. And if I say stop then you need to stop.”

“That goes for any kind of sex,” Damien points out. Which makes Tweek feel better. He doesn't know Damien well, maybe he's the kind of guy who doesn't care if his lover consents. But he doesn't think so.

He allows Damien to be on top again. Damien pulls off Tweek's jeans and palms his dick. He's only half-hard now, the sight of Damien's monstrosity putting him off some. He's much smaller than Damien but Tweek has been smaller down there than any other guy he's ever been with, he learned to stop being ashamed of that years ago. Even as a kid he had always been the smallest in that department.

Damien gets him hard with his mouth. He can see why Thomas screamed through this because it feels great and has Tweek grabbing at Damien's hair as he pants loudly through it. The man lubes up his fingers generously to probe at Tweek's asshole as he swallows him, opening him up while he's relaxed and enjoying himself. His long fingers feel nearly as good as some dicks he's taken as he fucks him with them. He feels guilty for just accepting and offers to return the favor, admittedly through breathy moans.

“Doesn't work well with the piercings,” he admits. “Maybe next time. Just enjoy it.”

Tweek lets himself slump down onto the bed, head flat against the pillow, and closes his eyes. But it doesn't work. He wants to see Damien down there, see how good he looks with Tweek's cock in his mouth. So he pulls himself back up onto his elbow to watch.

“Think you're ready?” he asks.

Tweek nods, knowing it's not true. He doesn't know if he's ready for this. But if he waited until he was ready they may be here all night. Or all week. Or all year. Better just to go ahead and try it.

Damien pushes Tweek's legs up against his chest, parting them. Tweek glances down to make sure he's put on a condom, he has. Must've done it while he was blowing Tweek. Talented guy. He looks huge as he pushes just the tip of the head against Tweek's hole. He's so large it doesn't look like something that big should fit inside an opening that small. But he does. He pushes in slowly and Tweek feels himself spread open. He lets his head fall back against once more and breathes evenly. In, out. In, out. Forcing himself to remain calm. He knows how this goes. Doesn't matter how many cocks you've had inside you, the moment you go tense it's going to hurt.

He pushes in slowly but smoothly, not stopping. Inexplicably, Tweek imagines a ship docking and snorts to himself. Damien doesn't stop. Not until he's bottomed out. His balls press against Tweek's ass. Tweek lets himself exhale. Damien presses his body against his own, letting him take his weight, his forehead pressed against Tweek's jaw.

It feels different but not as extreme as he thought it would be. Maybe it won't hurt too bad.

“Shit,” Damien breathes. “I knew you'd be tight.”  
“How do I feel?” Tweek urges, “My ass feel good around your cock?”

Damien nods. His body is shaking. But he's hot. Not just his hand but everything on him, his chest, his arms, his legs. They all burn into Tweek's skin.

“I've been wanting to do this for weeks,” the man confesses. “Jacked off to the thought of fucking you so many times.”

“Then stop talking and do it,” Tweek goads him on. Damien shakes with laughter and pulls himself up, pushes Tweek's legs farther back. His knees are near his ears now. That's fine. It's a good position. Tweek likes this position.

Damien pulls back and pushes back in. Does it a second time. Then a third. Not quickly or forcefully, just enough to get Tweek used to the position.

He was wrong. It does feel different. He can feel the piercings in there, rubbing against him. But they're not scraping. They feel fucking fantastic.

Tweek can't help the small moans escaping from his lip. Confident, Damien fucks him harder. At first, Tweek tries to concentrate on the individual feelings of it all. Tries to tell which part is penis and which part is Ladder and which part is the Prince Albert. He's almost certain he's feeling the Prince Albert against his prostate. But when you have something slamming repeatedly against your prostate you start to lose sense of anything.

He grips Damien around the neck, around the shoulders, and just goes for the ride.

He doesn't even realizing he's screaming until Damien kisses him and the sound is suddenly gone. He kisses Damien desperately, needing to express how fucking good this feels because it's impossible to hold this feeling in. He feels pulled open, exposed, so deeply fucked he'll be surprised if his asshole ever closes up again. But he isn't sure if he even wants that at this point. He never wants it to end. He knows, realistically, he should be touching himself. Trying to help his orgasm along. But the quicker he comes the quicker he'll be empty and Damien's so good at fucking him.

He tells him that. He breathes something about his beautiful penis needing to be in a museum. He moans something about wanting that marvelous dick in him forever. He screams something about his magnificent cock being worthy of the gods.

Damien chuckles and tells him he has the wrong deity.

He somehow manages to spread him even wider, pushes his hips up further, and pounds him into the bed so hard that the heavy headboard bangs against the wall over and over again. Pounding comes from the other side of the wall, angry yelling too muffled to understand.

It's all a blur. Tweek alternates between closing his eyes and opening them. The pleasure is too intense to keep them open but Damien is on top of him, teeth clenched, sweating dripping down his nose, and Tweek wants to watch him.

By the time he cums, Tweek is sobbing. He doesn't even know why he's crying, but his face is wet and his chest is heaving and there's snot coming out of his nose that he tries to wipe away with the back of his hand. Damien kisses him anyway, not seeming to care about the mucus, and Tweek goes from weeping to laughing, delirious with pleasure. He fucks hims straight through his orgasm, not slowing but pushing deeper into him and grinding against his prostate, forcing prolonged sensations that he swears has sparks shooting across his vision.

Damien finishes only a few seconds later. As if he was holding back. As if he's that good he was able to keep himself at the edge of orgasm as he waited for Tweek to finish.

They're both disgusting, sweaty, and covered with cum by the time Damien pulls out. Tweek lays there, unable to even move, letting his legs fall where they will once Damien pulls back from him. He pulls off the condom and Tweek feels empathy for the rumpled bit of latex. He knows how it feels.

He throws the condom in a Burger King cup on the side of his bed and gathers Tweek into his arm, kissing his forehead. Despite the sweat that must be gathered there.

Tweek breathes deeply, his head spinning. Lack of oxygen. Too much screaming and sobbing.

“Fuck,” he says finally. “Jesus fuck.”

“No, it was just me,” Damien says, his voice sounding fond. “Good?”

“Fuck,” he says again.

Damien laughs and pulls him tighter against his chest. He kisses his forehead again, wipes the sweaty hair off his face.

“What was that about my dick being in a museum? Or was it inside you forever? It can't be both, you know?”

“Fuck the museum,” Tweek says, exhausted. “They're not getting it. And we're doing that again as soon as my head stops spinning.”

 


End file.
